


How it starts

by Asil15



Category: The Lovecraft Investigations, The Whisperer in Darkness (Radio)
Genre: Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asil15/pseuds/Asil15
Summary: Before Red Hook Stories, a columnist and an investigator share drinks and disillusionment.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	How it starts

Matt was bored. He hadn’t entirely admitted it to himself yet, but he was. He had thought getting to write columns would be a dream come true, the perfect job – and for a while it was. Now it all felt a bit dull and staid, and part of him was desperate for a new challenge.

Today Cliff was retiring after decades doing a similar job to Matt. Cliff had been exciting at one time, an inspiration, but now, if Matt was honest, he would have to say that Cliff hadn’t written a genuinely interesting column in years. His retirement had been accompanied by the usual rigmarole – speeches and laughter and drinks. And now they were in the pub, for more drinks. Matt sat fiddling with his glass and occasionally glancing across at Cliff, wondering if that was his future.

“Having fun?” asked a teasing American voice, as a woman dropped into a seat beside him.

He gave her a smile, “Absolutely,” he assured her, “You?”

“Oh, I’m having a blast. Nothing more fun than watching dinosaurs drink themselves to death.”

His smile broadened. This was Kennedy Fisher, ambitious freelance researcher and aspiring investigative journalist. A mutual friend in the newsroom had put them in touch a few months ago, when Matt had been writing a column on the growing ‘true crime’ genre and its impact. It turned out that Kennedy Fisher was quite the expert on the topic and speaking to her was a real shortcut on what could have been a vast amount of research, as well as a few fascinating conversations.

“What are you working on at the moment?” he asked her.

She sighed, “Oh God, the dullest story in the world. I try to pitch interesting stuff but they just keep offering me work digging up background on the world’s most boring people. I wouldn’t mind if it meant something like, you know, real impact. But dull and meaningless is just shit.”

“It’s because you’re such a good researcher,” Matt smiled, “Even with the dull stuff.”

She shook her head, “Undermined by my own brilliance,” she said dryly.

Matt drained his glass and pointed to hers. “Another.”

“Definitely,” she smiled, handing it to him.

He glanced back from the bar and saw that Kennedy had been approached by a guy from the newsroom. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see what the guy was hoping for. Kennedy clearly gave him short shrift and he had wandered of dejectedly by the time Matt returned with their drinks.

He handed Kennedy her glass and nodded at the man’s disappearing back, “Fun chat?”

She rolled her eyes and took a sip from the glass.

Matt took his seat beside her.

“So,” she said, “What are you working on at the moment? Anymore unexplained mysteries?”

“There’s not really that much demand for them in columns, which makes it a bit difficult to keep including them.”

“Shame,” she said, “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you know, ‘modern life’. I’m doing something on air travel for the next one I think.”

“Oh – then you could do DB Cooper!”

“Who?”

“DB Cooper – the disappearing hijacker, come on,” Kennedy was suddenly filled with enthusiasm, “It’s not my favourite but it’s still a good one.”

“I don’t know it.”

“Okay, well – this guy gets on a plane to Seattle the night before Thanksgiving in 1971. He’s bought the ticket in the name ‘Dan Cooper’, and it’s a really short flight, like half an hour. After the plane takes off he gives a note to the flight attendant and says he’s got a bomb in his briefcase. He’s this businessman-looking guy, suit and briefcase, but he shows her what looks like a bomb in the briefcase, and he demands a load of money and 4 parachutes, and the pilot contacts air traffic control and it’s all agreed. They delay while they get everything ready, and then he’s given the parachutes and the money (they’ve recorded the serial numbers of them all). He lets the passengers off the plane and away they go again – he tells them to fly slow to Mexico. They aren’t going to be able to get to Mexico like that, so they agree to stop in Reno for fuel. When they get to Reno, Cooper is gone. During the flight he put down the stair and there was this point where the plane’s tail suddenly went up, so they think he parachuted out. The plane was being followed by some other planes, and no one saw him jump. He’s left behind his tie and two of the parachutes. But they never find him, or any trace of him, dead or alive, although they search the whole area on the route of the plane. In 1980, a kid finds three packs of bills in the sand on a riverbank and they’re from the ransom. The rest of it never turns up though, and no one can really say how it got there. And they get loads of eyewitness accounts but never identify Cooper. So, it’s kind of weird right. It’s like – who was he really? And where did he go?”

“You really know a lot about this stuff.”

“I love a good mystery, don’t you?”

Her enthusiasm made him smile, “Yeah, I guess.”

Behind them the barman called last orders.

“I’ve got a couple of books on DB Cooper if you’re interested?” she offered.

“Sure, why not?”

“Great. Are you in the office tomorrow? I’ll drop them in.”

Matt shook his head, “I’m not, but I can pick them up when I’m next in.”

“Sure,” she drained the last of her drink. “Time to head home I guess.”

“Seems like it,” he agreed, finishing his drink. They headed out to the street together and he walked with her to the bus stop. She looked at the display and groaned.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Matt.

“214,” she sighed, rubbing her hands together and then folding her arms across her chest. “I should have brought gloves, and a scarf.”

“That’s my way,” smiled Matt, “Do you want to skip the wait and share a cab?”

“Yes,” Kennedy pointed at him energetically, “Excellent idea, let’s do that.” She turned and waved at a passing cab which stopped to collect them.

They climbed in and Matt gestured for Kennedy to give her address, which she did. They set off.

“Are you sure this is your way?” she asked him.

“Very much so. We must live five minutes from each other.”

“I bet you live in the rich bit,” she teased him, “Columnists always do.”

He grinned.

“Hey,” she said suddenly, “You can come in and grab those DB Cooper books now! If you want to? I don’t want to be forcing crazy mysteries on you.”

“No – sure – I’d like to, it sounds interesting.”

“Cool.”

The cab pulled up outside Kennedy’s address and Matt paid the full fare.

“I’ll pay you back,” she told him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, “It’s an exchange for some interesting reading material.”

She smiled, and he followed he into the building and up to a small flat. She unlocked the door and led him in. Kennedy’s flat was small and full. The area they entered combined living space and a small kitchen area. Two doors leading from the room led to a small bedroom and a bathroom.

The living space was full of books, printed documents, hand-written notes and plants. Some of the books filled shelves on one wall, whilst others were scattered with the notes and documents across the bits of furniture in the room. Matt gazed around as Kennedy headed straight for the bookshelves and pulled out a couple of books.

“Here,” she said, handing them to him.

“Thanks.”

"Do you want a drink?” she offered.

“Umm – yes, sure, thanks.”

“Great,” Kennedy swept a pile of papers off the couch and balanced them precariously on top of another pile on the low table, “Grab a seat.”

Matt shrugged off his coat, sat in the newly created space and flicked quickly through the books she had given him, before turning his attention to the titles of the various books in the room.

“Alcohol or coffee?” asked Kennedy.

He turned to smile at her, “I feel like I should probably take coffee,” he said. Cliff’s retirement had involved drinking since the afternoon.

“Good choice,” grinned Kennedy, opening a cupboard to grab a couple of mugs, “You’re clearly one of those good influences my mother used to tell me about.”

Matt grinned and turned back to look at the books while Kennedy made the drinks.

“You read a lot of true crime and mysteries,” he commented.

“So much,” Kennedy agreed, “Too much probably.”

“Have you always been interested in this stuff?”

“Oh, always,” she told him, bringing their cups over and handing Matt his.

“Thanks.”

“Could you hold this for a minute?”

He took her cup too and she moved some more books and papers from the other end of the couch so there was space for her to sit down beside him. Once she was settled, he handed her cup back to her. “Thanks.”

They both took a sip of their coffees.

“I always loved mysteries – ever since I was a kid,” Kennedy told him, “That’s why I wanted to be a journalist, I had this dream of being an investigator – tracking down clues, interviewing people, solving mysteries,” she sighed, “Not the most realistic of dreams.”

“You’re a great investigator,” Matt assured her.

She snorted, “How can I be when I spend all my time trawling through documents nobody even cares about?” She shook her head, “How about you? Was top columnist the dream of your youth?”

Matt rolled his eyes and took another sip of his coffee. “Journalist was my dream for a long time,” he said honestly, “And that became columnist, but…” he shrugged.

Kennedy tilted her head on one side and looked at him closely. “You don’t like it anymore?”

"No, it’s not – I do – I know I’m really lucky and very grateful to be –”

“It’s alright, Matt, I get it – you recognise your good fortune, it’s a nice job, you get to share out your opinions, fairly well-paid, and you could probably fit this flat into your place 10 times over.”

He laughed, “Seriously, how much do you think I get paid?”

She laughed too. “Alright, maybe 5 times then.”

He shook his head, still laughing.

“The point is, Matt – are you happy doing it?”

He looked at her face, and then down at his coffee, and suddenly because serious. “I’m not sure I am anymore,” he answered honestly. “I was thrilled at the start, of course, but now… You know I used to really admire Cliff as a journalist and then I looked at him tonight, and I just thought – is that going to be me? Is that my life now?”

“Your columns are never as dull as Cliff’s.”

He smiled, “Thanks,” he said sarcastically.

They were silent for a moment.

“Why don’t you do something about it?”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want – find somewhere where you can do the work you want to do.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked, “The world is changing remember.”

“I guess,” he paused, “Why haven’t you found a way to do what you want to do?”

“I’m trying,” she told him mock-defensively, “But I also have to pay the bills, and I don’t have your career and reputation to sell me.”

“I don't have any kind of reputation." Matt protested, "And you’re a great researcher.”

“I have never done any research for you."

“You helped me with that column,” he told her, “And besides, I hear things.”

“Right. Well, if you hear of any interesting work do let me know.”

He smiled, “I will,” he assured her genuinely, “Definitely.”

She met his eye and smiled, “Thanks.”

They sipped coffee in companionable silence. Matt finished his drink and sighed.

“I should probably head home,” he said.

“Sure,” she smiled, getting to her feet and taking his cup from him.

He pulled on his coat and picked up the DB Cooper books she was lending him. “Thanks for these.”

“Pleasure. I hope you can work it into your column somehow.”

“I’ll try,” he assured her. He paused in the crowded space near the window. “You have a lot of plants.”

“Yeah,” Kennedy agreed, “I like them – they’re less needy than a dog.”

Matt gave a snort of laughter and they headed towards the door.

“Night, Kennedy,” he said, “Thanks again.”

“Night, Matt,” she smiled, “See you soon.”

She shut the door behind him and he walked home, turning over their conversation in his head. Maybe it was time he made a change, tried to do something that really interested him.

When he got home, he read a few pages of one of the books Kennedy had given him, then put it down and headed over to his computer. When the sun started coming through his window at 8am he was still sitting there, and he had read a vast number of articles about podcasting.

* * *

Matt spent the morning making a few calls and scribbled notes. Around lunchtime he called Kennedy.

“Hi.”

“Hi, Kennedy, it’s Matt.”

“Hi, Matt – what can I do for you?”

“Have you got time to meet for lunch?”

“Sure. As long as its somewhere cheap.”

He laughed and suggested a nearby café. They agreed to meet there in half an hour. Matt scribbled some numbers onto a fresh sheet of paper and did some rough calculations on his phone. Then he gathered all the notes together and headed towards the café.

When he arrived Kennedy was already sitting at a table, drinking coffee and reading something on her phone.

“Hi,” he said.

She looked up with a grin, “Hi.”

He took a seat, “How are you?”

“Slightly hungover. You?”

“Probably similar.”

“You do look pretty awful – sorry.”

“That’s probably because I haven’t slept either,” he told her, “I was up all night after what you said.”  
“Oh God,” she said, sipping her drink, “Sorry. What did I say?”

“About doing something about it if I wanted to do different work.”

“Oh, right,” she looked at him with her tilted to one side and a smile ghosted across her face, “Do you have a plan, Matt?”

“Yes – sort of.”

“So, is this a ‘work lunch’?”

He smiled “I do have a bit of a proposal for you.”

She put her cup down and leaned forward, “I’m all ears.”

“Let me get a drink first,” he told her. “Have you ordered food?”

“I was waiting for you,” she answered, and then glared at him, “Stop deflecting and tell me your proposal.”

He relented and pulled out his notes.

“I was thinking – an investigative podcast.”

“Investigative podcast?”

“Yep, so looking at things like true crime, unsolved mysteries, all of that. A different investigation in every episode. We could pick whatever we want to cover – complete editorial freedom.”

“We?”

“Yes, so,” Matt took a deep breath, “I’d quite like to kind of host and I suppose edit the episodes, cut everything together, develop the narrative, all that. And then, well, I was imagining there’d be kind of an investigator/researcher role – sort of digging out information, chasing down leads…”

“And that would be me?”

“If you’d be interested.”

“Oh, I’m interested.”

“I haven’t worked out the financing yet. There’s some start-up funding I think we could apply for, and we could do subscriptions if there was the interest, maybe advertising…”

“It would be good to be independent, no advertising, no sponsors.”

“It would, but it could be a struggle. We might not make much money from it.”

“But it would be ours – we’d make all the decisions?”

“That’s the idea.”

“I’m in.”

“I’ve barely given you any details yet,” Matt laughed, “I’ve got some calculations here,” he flicked through papers in front of him, “Costs, possible funding options, you should have a look before you decide.

“I don’t care, Matt.”

“What?”

“I don’t care about the calculations. I’m in, and we’ll work it out as we go along.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she smiled, “Let’s just do it.”

“That was easy.”

“Oh – we shouldn’t do a different investigation every episode though.”

“No?”

“No, we’d never get enough detail in that. We need to do a season for each story, really dig down into the details, go through relevant materials, interview potential witnesses and experts – there’s no point doing it if we don’t do it thoroughly.”

Matt nodded slowly, “That makes sense.”

Kennedy beamed at him, “This is going to be great.”


End file.
